dr. abbe asked at breakfast, “miss dudley, can you spare miss brooks and me for the day?”
lilith looked up, her face full of astonishment.
involuntarily polly glanced from one to the other.
“certainly, dr. abbe,” she smiled.
lilith held her breath, wide-eyed and scarlet of cheek.
“i wanted to be sure,” said the doctor, “for fear the lady would plead lack of time.”
then, turning to lilith, he said, a twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes:—
“miss brooks, would you like to go to skyboro, to see a granduncle and grandaunt of mine? they are pleasant, old-fashioned people, and very hospitable. i think you would like them.”
“thank you, dr. abbe,” answered lilith, with a smiling little bow, “i should be delighted to go; but how do you propose to make the journey? i believe neither of us can drive the car, and my wings are not here.”
“thank you,” laughed the doctor. “i am hoping that miss dudley will offer to take us down to the overlook station.”
[208] which polly hastened to do, accompanied by a burst of laughter.
it was one of those mornings that was sunny on the mountain-top, while heavy mists lay along the valleys and obscured the lower hills. “we’ll have thunder before night,” prophesied benedicta, as she bade the carload good-bye from the piazza. “better take your umbrella!” but the clear sunshine around them made her advice seem a joke, and it was received only with amusement.
polly’s drive alone up the mountain gave her a wonderful sense of peace. the restful, upreaching pines; the gleeful brooks; the great ferns; the joyous birds; the landscape in its sunny content;—all these ministered to her spirit, until she felt as if nothing could ever trouble her again.
in this happy mood she would have liked to choose some nook apart from the others and read and dream in company with one of her favorite authors. but she had many tasks, and to-day was crowded with them because of lilith’s absence. so with singing in her heart and on her lips she put away small garments and brought out fresh ones, mopped and dusted, gave drinks of water to occupants of pillowed chairs, fetched books and pictures and games, and did countless other things with smiling good cheer and happy words that went a very long way towards making her small patients comfortable and glad.
“guess i’ll can some of these blueberries,”[209] benedicta told her on one of her trips to the kitchen. “a man came along with them early, and i bought more than i realized. he gave me bouncing good measure, and there seems to be a superfluity—see those panfuls!” she pointed to the heaped-up fruit.
“i’m glad you bought them,” returned polly. “i never tire of blueberries, fresh or cooked.”
“well,” went on the housekeeper, a pleased, relieved look on her face, “i knew you liked ’em. so do i. and i’ve got time to can to-day; there isn’t going to be any man to dinner. you’ll be glad of them next winter. blueberry cake won’t go amiss when the wind is howling round the hospital and the snow is three feet deep.”
“we don’t often have three feet of snow down our way,” laughed polly; “but blueberry cake will taste just as well even if the snow does lack a foot or two.”
“i think i will come down and visit you in snow-time,” returned benedicta.
“do!” cried polly. “and be sure to bring your recipe book along!”
“i certainly shall—when i come,” chuckled benedicta.
“you’ll come,” returned polly authoritatively. “i shan’t give you any peace until you do.”
out on the veranda the children amused themselves in quiet ways. it was too hot for much liveliness, although an animated argument was going[210] on between grissel and clementina as to which was the “nicest,” polly or lilith or the white nurse or benedicta. finally polly’s stories appeared to offset—even with the opposite party—benedicta’s cookies and tarts, while lilith’s picture plays weighed heavily against mrs. daybill’s word games which could be indulged in at any time, even in the midst of a bath. the battle was not over when polly appeared with a pitcher of lemonade and a tray of glasses.
the little folks shrieked with delight, and several of the boldest clamored for a story to attend their refreshment.
so polly, always bent on pleasing and glad of a brief respite from her duties, told them a long tale of the “golden horse,” who, weary of his work as a whirling weathervane, became envious of the birds and longed to fly, but who, after a short journey through the air on the wings of a thunder-storm, was content to return to the duty for which he was fitted and thereafter lived in happiness, the beloved of a little boy in the house below.
“i should rather be a vane than to ride on the wings of a thunder-storm,” shuddered jozy. “ugh! wouldn’t i be afraid!”
“aw, i wouldn’t!” boasted timmy. “i love to hear it thunder.”
“guess you wouldn’t if you had to ride up in the air right along with it,” retorted jozy. “anyway,[211] you don’t like the lightning, ’cause you said you didn’t last time it did!”
“who does?” grinned timmy, now sure of his ground in the present company.
there was a general laugh, under cover of which polly hastened away to her few remaining tasks.
upstairs she glanced from a window to see that thunder-caps were assembling in the western sky. she thought of benedicta’s prophecy, and smiled. perhaps lilith and the doctor might need an umbrella after all. then she sighed a little—some of the children were always afraid in an electric storm, and once there had been a small panic. she dreaded them on that account.
down in the kitchen she found timmy. one could usually be sure of timmy wherever the housekeeper and cooking were going on.
“hadn’t you better go out on the veranda?” polly suggested. “i’m afraid you’ll bother benedicta. she’s going to can blueberries.”
“oh, miss dudley, i want to see her can blueberries!” was his prompt answer.
“he’s never been too numerous yet,” averred the housekeeper. “when he is i’ll send him away.”
“can i come, too?” begged jozy from the doorway.
“no, i think you’d better not,” answered polly from the stairs.
“yes, come right in!” called benedicta.
[212] polly went on with a smiling sigh. benedicta was surely spoiling those children.
it was four o’clock when polly heard the first mutterings of thunder. she had lain down for a few minutes, as was her custom at this hour, and she had fallen asleep. the thunder had probably wakened her. she arose and hastened downstairs; some of the children might be growing nervous.
in the ward nobody was stirring. esther tenniel had been playing with post-cards and had dropped back on her pillow. jozy and clementina and grissel were drowsing in wheel-chairs. muriel spencer and annette lacouchière were looking at picture books. little duke and dolly merrifield were asleep on the veranda, with mrs. daybill keeping guard over all and deep in a book as well. the kitchen was empty of life except for a droning fly or two.
outside a cooler breeze was ruffling everything within reach. the sky had changed. the sun was still shining with a weird brightness, making the heaped-up clouds in the northwest seem blacker in contrast. the rumbles of thunder grew into growls.
“we are going to have a shower,” said the white nurse to polly who stood scanning the sky.
polly nodded. “where’s benedicta?”
“i saw her go over to the study. the boys are asleep—or were when i left them half an hour ago.”
[213] polly went inside.
jozy was awake, anxious-eyed.
“is there going to be a thunder-shower?” she questioned tremulously.
“it looks a little like it,” polly answered in cheerful tone. “if we have one i will tell you a story.”
“oh, dear!” jozy gave a half-laugh. “i don’t know what to do now. i want the story—but i don’t want it to lighten.”
“probably the storm won’t last long,” was the reply. “they are not apt to up here. maybe it won’t come at all.”
polly went on, into the kitchen, where benedicta’s fruit-filled jars stood in a prim row on the table. always thereafter, the terrible storm was associated in her memory with that long line of canned blueberries.
passing out to the piazza, a troubled look came over her face. instinctively she wished that dr. abbe was there. a man is always so convenient if anything happens. polly had never seen so gruesome a sky. blackness was gathering overhead, dense blackness that seemed to be embracing the mountain, while far in the northwest zigzags of lightning against a dull coppery sky were appalling in number and incessancy.
she ran across and shut the doors of the garage and then returned to the piazza.
the wind veered to the north and darkness suddenly[214] enveloped the house. a gust slammed the door behind her, and polly hurried inside and began to shut doors and windows ahead of the oncoming storm. sheets of rain dashed into her face as she darted here and there. before she had finished her task a terrific clap halted her in the middle of the children’s dormitory, just as the white nurse came from the front veranda with dolly in her arms.
“isn’t it awful!” cried mrs. daybill. and laying the child on a bed, she started back to the veranda door.
a deafening, splitting crash brought an outcry from the children, and benedicta dashed into the kitchen, a boy in her arms, both streaming with water.
“where’s that—fire put-outer?” she gasped. “quick! study’s struck! all afire! two boys more there!”
in a moment benedicta and mrs. daybill with the extinguisher were racing across to the study, while polly rushed to rescue little duke who was still on the veranda. to her horror she found him limp and unconscious, a shivered, blackened floor telling the story. inside she tried remedy after remedy, to the accompaniment of shrieking, panic-stricken children, and a tumultuous heart full of sickening fear.
benedicta and the nurse returned with timmy and jeffy and reported the fire out.
[215] mrs. daybill took polly’s place by little duke. the boy though still breathing was unconscious.
“i think he will come out all right in a few minutes,” she assured polly; yet the moments passed and he remained the same.
meanwhile the storm lingered, but the thunderbolts seemed not quite so near.
polly stood over the child holding his wrist. “i’m going to overlook for a doctor!” she announced, darting toward the kitchen.
“indeed, you are not!” vetoed benedicta. “if anybody goes, that’s me!”
“no, no!” cried polly. “i—”
“teeters and tongs!” broke in the housekeeper, “i’m goin’!” and pushing the girl gently back she dashed off, her dress leaving a trail of drops on the polished floor.
“oh, don’t go!” pleaded mrs. daybill, as a heavy crash overhead and a dazzling glare through the room told that the storm was still with them.
“it’s ’most over!” called benedicta. “i’ll be all right.” she was putting on rubbers over her drenched slippers. then she took her raincoat from its nail behind the door, and crossed the kitchen.
polly ran out.
“you can’t control the car in this rain,” she urged, seizing benedicta’s arm. “you must not go!”
“let me alone! i’ll put on the chains.”
[216] the door shut behind her, and shortly the car had started on its trip down the mountain.
the children were whimpering. little duke lay white and motionless; only the soft breathing told of life.
“she’ll be struck and die, just like little duke!” wailed clementina. which was the signal for a general shower of tears.
“don’t! don’t!” begged mrs. daybill. “little duke isn’t dead and he isn’t going to be! he is only stunned. he’ll be all right before the doctor gets here—see if he isn’t!”
the cheery tone more than the words soothed the frightened children, and something like quiet began to prevail. little duke was now in bed, polly doing what she could in his behalf.
it was long before benedicta returned. the storm had passed, though clouds hung dark and heavy above overlook mountain. it was dusky inside. polly stepped out on the veranda, to see if the doctor had come. the car seemed to be full—yes, lilith and dr. abbe were there and another man besides. he jumped out, and polly caught her breath—it was david collins!
